Mountains to Climb
by hannah.jpg
Summary: Set seven years after the events in 'Reel Around the Sun', Eomer and Lothiriel face unexpected challenges.
1. Letter

_Hiya prospective readers! As the summary says, this is a sequel to my previous work, Reel Around the Sun. While I do recommend reading it for a sense of characterization and such, it's not completely necessary. I think (and I could by wrong), that this story can stand alone or as a continuation of any interpretation of Eomer and Lothiriel's courtship._

 _For your "FYI", the children are Aoife (7 years old), Ebba (5 years old), and Elfwine (6 months at the start of the story). No, Elfwine is not the eldest. Yes, he is the heir, and yes, it is because he is male. I figured that since that is how inheritance worked in medieval times it would be appropriate to assume similar customs for Rohirric culture. I'm fairly certain I haven't read anything to suggest otherwise from Tolkien's works._

 _Lastly, I just want to mention my totally stupendous beta, PI-Valkyrie-exLorien, for her amazing help and support._

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It all began with a letter. Mud-stained and crumpled, it was presented at the king's high table by a mangy looking scout, who bowed shortly to his king and then swept out back into the inclement weather, the pounding rain swallowing his form. A gust of cold wind whipped through the hall, settling on the royal family with a dark sense of foreboding for the parents, and met with indifference by the warring children.

"Mother, Ebba spilled beans on me! This is the last clean dress I have!" A thin wail began to rise from beside her, and Lothíriel turned quickly.

"Of course she spilt her beans on you, Aoife, I would do the same if I had a bossy older sister that found it fitting to narrate my every move. Keep your comments to yourself, and I am positive she will cease upending her dinner onto your lap. And Ebba," their mother added, effectively wiping the smirk from the younger girl's face. "Food belongs on your plate, not on your sister." The two girls glared at each other before resuming eating.

"What is it, dearest?" Lothíriel asked in a hushed voice, turning towards her husband. The noise of the rest of the diners in the hall had grown once more upon the departure of the mysterious visitor, and once the curious eyes had been drawn from him, Éomer had opened the letter to scan its contents. His mouth had hardened in the way it always did when he was thinking, and she worried for it. He did not answer, nor even seemed to hear her. She waited patiently for another moment, then said, "Éomer."

He jerked as if drawn from a trance, and turned to smile at her before folding the letter and tucking it into his tunic. "The news is not good. I shall tell you after the little ones are in bed."

She could not help rolling her eyes slightly. Her curiosity was unbearable when kept in suspense, and if he spoke quietly enough, their daughters certainly would not notice as they were far too distracted with each other. And little Elfwine, seated on Éomer's other side, was too young to understand speech any way. As if to prove her point, he began squealing in his impatience, banging his small hand on the table. "Might you return your attention to your son then?" she said.

Éomer was unimpressed by her stern tone, merely giving her a cheeky grin before spooning more mash into the boy's mouth as he had been doing before the letter arrived.

Still, Lothíriel could not help but worry. It was in her nature to do so, though she disguised it diligently. She smiled at little Elfwine as best she could, who looked back at her with the love-filled eyes that sons always gave their mothers. She made sure Aoife and Ebba tried everything served to them without using any of it as weaponry, and saw that Éomer's plate was filled once emptied, for tonight he was overly distracted. She ordered the sweets served once the guests had finished with the meal. Being November, it was far too late in the year to entertain any party from far away, but the usual court, as well as shifts of servants, ate in the Hall. Refusing any sweets for herself and dividing a serving in two for her daughters, Lothíriel waited anxiously for Éomer to end the meal. She gazed across the Hall, unfocused, and tallied what threats there had been that might cause the king to be so disturbed. She did not notice that she was jiggling her leg, as she often did when she was not paying attention, until Éomer placed a large, warm hand on her thigh.

"Relax," he said, his voice filled with concern. She smiled tightly at him, unable to soften her posture even with his melting brown eyes coercing her, so very gently, to let her anxieties go. It was so very unfair that he could do that! She squeezed his hand, but did not respond.

Soon, though it felt like days later, Éomer stood and she was able to motion for the servants to begin clearing the tables. Many of the other guests followed suit, casually yawning or joking as was perfectly acceptable for a 'family' dinner. Lothíriel took the proffered wet cloth from a servant and wiped little Elfwine's face, who was immediately hauled up by his father. Aoife and Ebba waited patiently for their turns to be cleaned, but ran off giggling as soon as they were deemed fit. Lothíriel sighed, and held Éomer's hand to stand.

"I am sure the sun has already set," he said to her as they walked together towards their chambers. "Impossible to tell in this weather though."

"I will put Elfwine to bed directly. He did not sleep very soundly this afternoon, as his sisters seemed intent on raising hell through the corridors."

"Lothíriel!" he cried, nearly shocked enough to cease their path. "It is most unlike you to curse!"

She only nodded uncommitedly. "I am sorry. I have been exhausted by the day." His hand tightened on hers for the briefest moment, and she saw that his brows had drawn together. "But I am not so tired that we cannot counsel tonight," she added.

The uncommon darkness from the rainstorm made their bedchamber pitch black, but the sound and smell of the rain through the open window comforted Lothíriel. The children had been put to bed, and Éomer was away on an unknown errand. Faced with more as yet undue worrying, she rang for her maid and prepared for bed, this night electing to brush her own hair and sending the maid away once she was undressed and robed. _One_ , she thought, drawing the brush through her tousled curls. _Two. Three. Four._ Every night, one hundred brushstrokes. It comforted her, as routine always did. _Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-_

The door opened, and so on edge was she that she spun around, brandishing the brush as one might a knife towards Éomer as he crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. He only raised his eyebrows at the sight of her. "Will you challenge me armed only with a hairbrush?" he asked.

She huffed and did not answer, returning to her attention to the gilded mirror where she sat. "I expect you might share with me your secrets, now that we are alone," she said, unwilling to be drawn into any bantering.

"You are never one to forget, are you?" her husband had already divested himself of his vest, and sat to remove his boots.

"No, I am not, as you are well aware. Stop attempting to distract me."

She was granted a flitting smile before his last boot fell to the floor with a thunk and he leaned back in his chair, now solemn. "The Dunlendings have amassed in the Westfold. The letter was from Erkenbrand, informing me of his concerns about his eored's ability to contain any threat. Though no fighting has broken out," at this he gave Lothíriel a pointed look. "He wanted me to be aware, and send any extra riders that are available."

She was quiet for moment, still counting and brushing diligently while she digested this information. "How many Dunlendings are there?"

"Erkenbrand is unsure. He estimated between five hundred and a thousand."

"A thousand!"

"A high estimate," Éomer said. "It is unlikely." Silence followed, as each returned to their preparation for bed. Lothíriel finished her brushing and braided her hair back before washing her face and cleaning her teeth, but her husband, with less to do, was done before her and was waiting in the big oak bed.

"You are last," he told her as she shrugged off her velvet dressing gown, draping it neatly on her chair. She stuck her tongue out in a show of bad humor, but took a final turn around the room to extinguish the candles before climbing into bed beside him, undoing the ties on the curtains and pulling them shut. "Did the children go to bed easily?" he asked.

"Well enough." She tucked herself in and yawned. Éomer had not relaxed, remaining outside the bedclothes, laying on his side and watching her.

"Are you very worried?"

Lothíriel thought for a moment. "Should I be?"

He brushed a finger along her cheekbone before answering. "I do not know."

"I will probably worry then."

"I wish you would not."

"Then perhaps I will not."

He was getting annoyed, his brows drawing together and his cheek ticking. Even though she did not like antagonizing him, and her grouchiness was simply inexplicable, she could not help but smiling at how handsome he was. The few times that he was not looking at her sappily, or joyfully, or pleasantly, she was reminded of his past as a soldier. It was attractive to her to know how powerful he was, though he was so meticulous in his manners. Underneath him, she felt small and feminine, which had been a new feeling for her after their marriage. Being tall the entirety of her life and actually ungainly during her youth, the novelty of feeling like a woman thrilled her. She did not realize that she was staring at his lips until they rose at the corners.

"You look positively hungry, my dear. Would you like a taste?"

Lothíriel lifted herself onto an elbow and kissed him tenderly before pulling away and looking at him thoughtfully. "A taste only. If my rest is delayed further, I might find myself nodding over breakfast in the morning."

"A taste it shall be then, for I would not deny my wife anything under the sun."

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A knocking began to stir her from her dreams, and Lothíriel flopped over in bed, trying to ignore it. She kicked Éomer once, but he did not respond. The woes of being a light sleeper, married to one that would not wake for anything! The knocking came again, louder, and now that she was beginning to awaken, it startled her into full consciousness. She lept up and tumbled over Éomer, climbing over him to find herself tangled in the velvet hangings, which fell from their securements in the ceiling to the floor with a _FLUMP!_

The poor man that had knocked was poking his head in through the door, and was now mightily embarrassed to see his queen standing in a pile of fallen curtains, disheveled from her askew nightgown to her nest of hair.

"Well? What is it?" she asked, purposefully abrasive to disguise her clumsiness.

"It is an emergency, my lady. The king has been called to council. A message has arrived from the Hornburg."

"Noted. You may leave."

He left, shutting the door behind him in obvious haste. Lothíriel muttered to herself in irritation as she threw on her dressing gown and tidied her hair. Before leaving, she shook Éomer awake as best she could. She explained to him the situation in as few words as possible and made him promise he would get up directly, and then made her way to the hall.

Already several men were standing around a table strewn with papers, and they looked up to see her enter. "My lady," Elfhelm said, gesturing toward her to approach. "Will Éomer King be joining us?"

"Soon enough," she said. "Please appraise me of the situation."

Elfhelm had laid out a map of the Eastfold, and he began to explain the movements of the Dunlendings that had been reported in this second letter from Erkenbrand. Still no skirmishes, but the estimated numbers were around two thousand wildmen. But that was not yet the worst - "A scout intercepted a message," Elfhelm said. "A rough translation showed that the enemy plans to attack us directly at our heart."

A stone-cold grip closed around her heart. "Edoras," she said.

"That is what we believe. Considering their pace…" he shrugged. "They might be here within two days, if they are not stopped."

"I see," she swallowed convulsively. _Do not show fear. Do not show fear_.

"We wait for the king's command, my lady."

"Well, I am certain -" Lothíriel stopped her thought when she felt Éomer's hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She had not noticed his approach in her distraction.

"I will take it from here."

She turned, taking comfort in his warm gaze. "I can help, Éomer, I already have ideas for -"

Again he cut across her. "Go back to bed," he said, voice low. "Do not worry, this situation is not a new one. We will get it sorted."

"But -"

"You would be useless to our children if you do not sleep."

Oh, it was unfair that he could do that! He had struck right at her weakness, and she bristled. "Very well," she said. "But you must wake me as soon as a decision is made."

"I would not dare otherwise." His smile was infectious, but she was not soothed as she stalked off, head held high, trying to appear unconcerned as she returned to their chambers. Her night was reduced to pacing their bedchamber, worrying and wondering of what would happen. Would Éomer ride out? Had Elfhelm kept some terrible secret from her of drastic measures would tear their family apart? What _could_ possibly be done? She finally lay in bed, pulling Éomer's pillow close to her to draw comfort from his scent as she ran through solutions in her mind. Cut off the wildmen with four eoreds and force them to surrender. Attempt a truce, or negotiate to find out their grievances. Éomer had given them land after the Ring War on the stipulation of peace. Why were the Dunlendings attacking them now?

She must have fallen asleep, for she did not remember the room beginning to lighten from the grey dawn, and when Éomer finally returned she did not need a candle to see his face, or to see the despair that lined it. "What is it?" she said, groping around for her discarded robe that she might rise in the intention of meeting the day.

"Stay," he said, and soon shrugged off his own clothes before joining her, pulling her close to his chest in silence.

"Is it so terrible?" Lothíriel asked, her voice hollow.

"Very."

She tightened her grip on his arms, closing her eyes briefly to compose herself. "What is to be done?"

He shifted, and pressed his lips to hers to stay more questions, and he held her more tightly for every time she tried to pull way to interrogate him further. She finally gave in, and allowed him to coerce her into deeper kisses and more caressing. Slowly she was divested of her nightgown, and his head lowered to her breasts. She moaned, arching her back to press herself to him. She felt the blood beginning to rush, and without any proper deliberation decided to allow this before any horrors were to unfold.

A short time later they were sated, and lay together still entwined. Lothíriel began to run her fingers through Éomer's hair, conflicted between the afterglow and her worry, wondering what she might say to broach the topic. But the decision was not to be hers, for it was only a moment before he spoke.

"You must leave Edoras straightaway."

Her indignant outburst had her on her knees, glaring down at her husband with all the wrath that she could muster while nude. "I certainly shall not! Whatever you have planned, I will not be placed on the sidelines for whatever noble mission you have planned."

His expression had not changed, sweeping his eyes along her body and to her eyes with a wistful look. "I do not wish to be parted from you, Lothíriel, but your safety and that of our children come before my personal desires."

"Fine words," she said. "For you to go die a hero's death."

The only sign of her words affecting him was a slight tilt of his brows. "My death is not part of the plan, Lot. If the wildmen are coming to attack us here, those who cannot and should not fight must be evacuated immediately. Edoras is to be turned into a barracks."

She fought back tears, folding her arms across her chest in anguish. "I cannot agree with this! I understand if you were to ride out, but to send us away!"

"It is to keep you unharmed."

"I cannot - I will not -" She lost control, struggling to release her anger but only succeeding to jumble words through raking tremors. She was spinning into a dizzy haze of disconnect. _What was happening_? She swallowed a cry and buried her face in her hands, shaking violently.

"Lot..Lothíriel. Calm down." Éomer's strong hands were on her arms, trying to pull them away. Unsuccessful, he finally just gathered her in a tight embrace, rocking her slightly and trying to explain into her hair. "This is the way it must be. You will lead those who cannot fight to Aldburg, where you will be safe and protected by Elfhelm's men. The fighting will not go that far. It is only for a little while, I promise."

"I… I cannot do this alone." Her voice was muffled in his skin, still damp from their lovemaking.

"Surely you can. This is one of those times your iron will shall come into great use."

"I meant," she gulped and turned her head that she might breathe. "I cannot do this without you. I cannot...cannot live without you. You are necessary to my survival as my heartbeat or breath in my lungs. Send all others away, I understand, but please do not force me to leave your side."

"There is no other option."

 _Do not show fear. Do not show fear._ Somehow a semblance of her self returned, and with determination Lothíriel pulled herself from her husband, taking a deep breath and looking upon him with a steely gaze, resolved to do her duty. "Arrange for criers to be sent into town while I dress the children. I will depart with my contingent at noon."

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Their little parade - Éomer in front, carrying Ebba and holding Aoife's hand, with Lothíriel falling behind - was only a part of the chaos that was building near the royal stables. Little Elfwine had fallen asleep soon after he had been strapped to her back, but Aoife was downcast as she stumbled along, and Ebba was sucking her thumb and sniffling into her da's shoulder. They were not the only children upset by the evacuation, evidenced by the wailing scenes around them, but Lothíriel was grateful for teaching them to only show emotion in private for the disheartening effect it had on others that might be watching. Her own pain was compressed and hidden deep inside her chest, but the sorrow of the goodbyes she saw brought about fresh pangs.

"I am sending you on Firefoot," Éomer said suddenly as they walked through the heavy doors. Most of the horses were already gone, but at the very end of the stable the retired war-horse was munching lazily on some hay and ignoring the energetic noises and jumping from the stallion located in the stall next to him. Sunfire, Éomer's current mount, was a brilliant golden color, which matched his fearlessness but also betrayed his youthful vanity. Lothíriel cooed to him a few words before she passed on, and the stallion quieted as she patted his nose briefly. Éomer had opened the elder horse's stall door, barking a few words to Firefoot to coax him out of his gluttonous daze. "He will keep you safe," he continued, putting Ebba on the ground near her mother so that he might saddle the horse. "He knows you, and he knows danger. There is life left in his bones, and he will not hesitate to trample any foes should you be attacked. Or he'll turn tail," he added after a moment. "He has a good instinct for a winning or losing battle."

Ebba was swung up in the front, and Aoife behind. Seeing her daughters' increased fright, and panicking this moment of farewell, Lothriel felt her heartbeat quicken. Her distress must have been evident, for Éomer immediately pulled her into a crushing hug without jostling little Elfwine. "It must be this way," he whispered. "I will send word of the conditions, I swear. Find Elfhelm's sister, as she effectively runs Aldburg herself. Please - please, do not worry yourself overmuch!"

"Huh!" It was a croak, and she was ashamed that her lip trembled as Éomer let her go to stare intently into her face. "I will worry, husband mine, and it will only lessen when you return to me whole and unscathed."

For an unknown reason, he began to laugh, and kissed her brow before lifting her so that she could throw her leg over the saddle. "I will write if I can," he said as she gathered the reins, his hot hand lingering on her calf. Aoife's arm wrapped around her waist, almost hurting. He stepped aside and clicked his tongue at Firefoot, who started before he began trotting out of the stable. Lothíriel turned once more, wrenching at the sight of Éomer's lone figure leaning on the stable post watching after them. Then he was gone, and she was blinded by the sudden bright sunlight. Firefoot trampled down the path to the gates, and lined himself neatly at the front of the growing exodus. Lothíriel sighed to herself, but said aloud,

"We will be safe. Father will see to that."

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 _I love reviews, but I feel silly asking for them. I would appreciate feedback, in any case, and I'm always trying to improve :)_


	2. Sickness

The contents of her stomach churned, and waking with a panic, Lothíriel ripped her covers off and swung her legs over the bed, only barely arriving at the chamber pot in time as her gut heaved. She moaned as her body divested itself of the previous nights' meal, sweat beading across her brow and palms. _It cannot be as terrible as it seems_ , she said to herself. _There is always a benefit to any amount of pain_. It was likely that her body was simply purging a sickness or bad food. Her knees were trembling and numb from the cold pine floor, and loose stitches from her woolen nightgown were itching her neck something awful. She turned to the window, searching for comfort in dawn's reviving light, but was only rewarding with a sharp shaft of sunlight directly in her eyes. Well, at least there was none to witness her incapacity.

Two weeks since they had arrived in Aldburg, and even without this sudden sickness, Lothíriel was on the brink of despair. Though their reception had been kind enough, and the Mistress of Aldburg, Everild, was as honest and hardworking as any woman of the Mark, Lot missed her home and husband. Éomer had only written once in the last fortnight, expressing care for herself and their daughters while delicately skirting the information she really wanted to know - the danger both he and Edoras were in. _No,_ she told herself firmly. _No fear, no worrying. That will solve nothing!_ There was much to be grateful for. Everild had provided two conjoining rooms for the royal family, which at first Lot tried to protest for the impracticality of it, as the city was fit to burst with the influx of refugees. But Everild insisted, and Lothíriel was thankful that she had. For all the recent struggles, privacy was not one of them.

Aoife and Ebba had acted out the first few days of their sojourn, somehow thinking that without their father around they might misbehave. Lot had sorted them out soon enough, and with renewed gratitude for Éomer. In his calm demeanor, he held more sway over their daughters' behavior, and his soft-spoken words had a note of finality that Lothíriel's never seemed to have. It was not quite fair, but there was nothing for it. Elfwine had resisted sleeping at night in a new bed with new surroundings, and she had brought him to sleep with her, partially from loneliness, and the last night he had finally slept without waking. That was certainly a blessing - he would be put in with the girls that very next night. And certainly right in time, for Lot had a suspicion that this illness might not pass soon enough. A renewed wave of nausea swept through her belly, and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

A door directly to her left burst open, banging against the wall before shutting again. Of course, the girls were awake. And quarrelling, as to be expected. The shrill shouting was causing a headache to rise behind her eyes, and with a grimace, Lot pulled her face from the chamber pot.

"Stop it! Stop it this instant!" she cried in a hoarse voice. The argument stopped, and with the girls turned to their mother with confusion.

"Aoife took Aethelfridu while I was sleeping," Ebba said, clutching the rag doll to her chest in what could only be described as a defensive embrace.

"I did nothing of the sort," Aoife lifted her chin in defiance, something that she had picked from Lothíriel, much to the latter's embarrassment. "Ebba must of thrown her in her sleep, because Aethelfridu was on my side of the bed when we woke. I would never take her doll; I am far too old to sleep with a _toy_."

"Is Aethelfridu harmed in any way?" Lothíriel asked. Her patience was hanging by a very thin thread.

"No, Mama."

"Then it is best to forget the entire incident, and I am sure Aethelfridu is quite keen to forget the experience. Prepare yourselves for the day, quickly now, and we will search out some breakfast." She stood, placing a hand against the wall for support as her head spun. She had to dress herself. _Bloomers, undershift, corset._ Ordering things in her mind always calmed her, and keep her focus from any discomfort. She tried to clinch the corset around her waist, and at the uncommon resistance from her belly, changed her mind. No corset today. _Slip, stocking, dress, boots, shawl._ Simple enough, and despite her heavy limbs she finished quickly. Little Elfwine had been sleeping soundly in her bed throughout Lothíriel's sickness and his sisters' brief, though tense, exchange. Lothíriel picked him as he stirred, and he snugged into her shoulder straightaway, easing her troubled thoughts.

"It is time to wake, my son," she cooed softly, rubbing his back with her free hand. "You are the last one to greet the sun today! And you slept so very well during the night, I am pleased to say you will be joining your sisters from now on that I might find rest myself." He lifted his head and blinked to stare as the girls reentered, fully dressed and groomed though not as tidy as Lot would like. "Button your blouse again, Ebba, you mismatched your buttons."

They marched from their rooms in the northwest of the hall straight to the kitchens. The girls were greeted happily by the cook and sculleries and promptly served a bowl of porridge apiece. The kitchen staff was already well acquainted with the royal family's routine, another blessing of which Lothíriel reminded herself. A mash of turnips for little Elfwine, and a bun and tea for the queen.

"We received a portion of candied oranges from Gondor just last month," Cookie explained as she put a pot of extra tea on the table. "I thought it would be a nice treat for my lady. It's not easy being separated from one's husband, even if he is the king."

Her kindness struck deep in Lothíriel's heart, and she smiled back out of sheer will rather than genuine pleasure. She did not want to be reminded of Éomer, not now. Her pain was always more conquerable when ignored, and reminders of her situation helped her none. "Thank you, Cookie," she said, and passing Elfwine to a maid to be fed (an opportunity Lot never declined), she picked up the sticky bun. As she brought it close to her mouth, a cloying and overpowering scent of oranges filled her nose and mouth. Her nausea overwhelmed her, and she let the bun drop back onto the tray. She cast her gaze around the room, but thankfully her blunder had not been witnessed. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

The table shook, and knowing exactly the cause, Lot reached under the table and grasped Ebba's leg. "Stop kicking each other this instant," she hissed, looking daggers at both girls. Her reaction was a bit extreme, she supposed, but it worked; with an uncommon amount of remorse Aoife and Ebba stopped kicking and resumed eating. Something had to be done with them - they chafed at their confinement, and Lot did not feel up to their normal lessons today. She stood, her present course decided. "Friede, please see that when the children are finished eating they return to our rooms. I will be there shortly."

Her errands were over quickly, as those individuals she sought were easily found and agreed readily to her requests. Though there was little chance of refusal to the queen. Lot could not quite decide if she appreciated this or not - her requests were always granted, but she would rather they granted because they were admirable ideas, not because of her station. Ah, well, this was not the time for such philosophies.

The girls were playing a rhyming game quietly together by the warm fire while Elfwine took teetering steps along the edge of the bed, clinging to the blankets and encouraged by Friede. The peace in the room surprised Lothíriel, but she would not be swayed from her scheme. "Thank you for your time, Friede," she said. "You may return to your duties."

"Yes, my lady," the maid stood to curtsey. "The prince and princesses are most charming, it has been both an honor and a joy to come to know them."

Lothíriel smiled, and suppressed a laugh. "They can be, yes, when I am not around."

"Good morning, my lady."

Lot's stern eye fixed on her daughters as the door thudded shut. They looked up to see her expression, and similar looks of apprehension became apparent. "Are we in trouble, Mama?" Ebba asked.

"You are to receive lessons from those who excel in their fields," she informed them, feeling no reason to skirt the topic. "I have spoken with Everild's steward, and as he is the most highly educated person in this hall, excepting myself, he will be giving you lessons in the morning. If I hear one word from him of misbehavior, you will answer to me."

Ebba visibly gulped, though Aoife kept a stiff upper lip.

"In the afternoons, you will be separated and put on a schedule. You will be practicing your riding, or your weaving or your sewing, or your household accounts, or your cookery. If you are incompliant to your teachers in any way, you shall be sent to the laundry or to muck out stalls. _There will be no misbehavior_."

"Yes, Mother," Aoife said, her voice quite clear despite the surprise she had been faced with. "I look forward to gaining new skills that will help me in the future."

"Yes, Mama," Ebba squeaked. Lothíriel knew her younger daughter would struggle more with being separated, but she consoled herself with knowing it was only temporary. Once the sickness left, and they returned to Edoras...she shook herself. _No worrying!_

"It is not simply increasing your skills," Lot said. "I am of a surety that these lessons will be fun to you. I will of course, wish to hear about what you are learning." The girls nodded. "I had the fortune to convince Steward Caldwin to begin your lessons this morning. He is awaiting you in his study. Can you find your way there?"

"If we cannot, we will ask a servant," Aoife said.

"That's my resourceful girl," Lothíriel said, and knelt down to open her arms to them. "I will join you for the midday meal in the kitchens. Be good!" A kiss from each of them on each of her cheeks, and they left the room together with a serenity that bespoke their nervousness. "They will perform admirably," she mused, turning to smile at little Elfwine, who had found Aethelfridu and was chewing on her dress. He gurgled back happily at her. "I suppose it is just you and I now, little sir. I look forward to our peaceful morning." She stood, retaining her good cheer for but a moment before rushing to the chamber pot to vomit.

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The following days quickly settled into a pleasing schedule. The family ate together at each meal; Lot and Elfwine napped the morning away while the girls had lessons, and after lunch there was more napping for the mother and son while the daughters spent their boundless energy in engaging pursuits. After supper, which was normally eaten in their rooms, Lothíriel would tell the girls a new story after Elfwine fell asleep, or they might pen a letter for Éomer together. She fell into bed only minutes after Aoife and Ebba, though despite that she was awake most of night relieving herself or stifling moans from her illness.

 _It should have passed by now._

Her thoughts idled over mending. She had begged Everild to give her something to occupy her hands, but she found that she lacked her normal verve. It was irritating, to be only a shade of her normal self. Distractedly staring at the window, wishing for the wide glass panes in Meduseld, Lot paid little attention to her task, and was rewarded with a sharp prick on her finger. She pressed it into her apron to stop the small bead of blood as she stifled a curse. Elfwine was sleeping in the next room, and it would do them no good if he woke before he was rested.

 _Why can you not admit to yourself that this sickness will not fade?_

The nagging part of her mind - the one that always spoke with honesty, even when it was painful, grew bolder.

 _You know the cause_.

Lot did not want to admit it. To admit would be to acknowledge that she was faced with a serious issue, one that would be impossibly difficult to bear in her situation. But she could not ignore it for weeks or months, and only say the words to herself when safely returned to Edoras.

 _Pregnant_.

The syllables of the word thudded in time with her heart beat; and it sped even as a warm, glowing feeling spread into her soul and mind. There was nothing to be ashamed of, not really, not when there was a child to come into her arms to be loved and cherished. A child conceived in deepest devotion between herself and Éomer - another babe to add to their family.

 _There is no reason to fear_.

She did not fear expanding their family, for she knew Éomer desired more children as well as she, perhaps even more so. Her fear was borne of loneliness, of being separated from her husband until Eru knows when. Carrying a child was difficult; carrying a child while nursing another even harder, and adding two precocious princesses to the mix and substituting the loyal husband, Lot felt that she was set up for disaster.

 _Any disaster of this nature will bring treasures and joy untold in the future. Hard times pass; happiness and family are lasting._

She could not ask for help from anyone in Everild's house. There was no question of announcing her condition for a few months' yet - she had already paid for that mistake once. Her pride would not allow a second time. Lot took a deep breath, quite resolved. "I will hide it," she whispered aloud. "I will bear this burden alone as it was given to me. And when our family is restored, I shall love this child fearlessly!"

As if her body appreciated her honesty and hope, the dizziness subsided somewhat and she was able to continue the mending. But despite her sickness, she had to keep busy. Mending was not enough, for with the girls gone, Elfwine was incredibly easy to care for. She had assigned Aoife and Ebba to duties, she would simply assign herself. Friede could sit in with Elfwine while he napped, and Lothíriel could find a place where her hands were needed. The weaving! Of course - she had heard complaints from the maids of the extra work from the influx of citizens in Aldburg. Blankets, linens, and winter clothing was needed by many, and Everild had taken it upon her house to provide for the people. Lot would surely be welcome there. She would ask tomorrow. Renewed with purpose and overwhelmed with her situation, she allowed the babe's presence to affect her emotions this once - and cried.

.

.

The _clickey-clacks_ of the looms filled her senses. Her arms had gotten over the aches of the monotonous work days ago, and only a dull burn was left. The shuddering from the frantic weavings of herself and the other women made the floor bounce, and unfortunately her stool with it. Pure willpower had kept her pathetic breakfast of tea and a half-slice of toast down, but the pounding in her head was wearing her down fast.

But what could she do, once escaped from the sickening motions and sounds? Compose herself, perhaps have a slice of bread. And then she would have to assign herself to something else, and the other options available might be more intensive than weaving. The chattering women in the room would surely comment on her having a break. _Who does the queen think she is, so far above the rest of us? This work must be done, even by royal hands!_ Lothíriel closed her eyes for a split second, trying to orient herself. The still black of her eyelid was comfort after the vibrating cloth, which was intensifying her nausea. Her hands continued working without sight to guide them, so used they were to their task.

"My lady?" The questioning sound came as if through a forest of cotton blossoms, muffled and faint. She took a deep breath to assure the speaker that all was well, and her stomach heaved. She had enough time to bend over so that the vomit fell into the basket of scraps, and as her body continuing to purge itself the clacking of the various looms stopped abruptly, and she felt a hand on her back.

"Take this, my lady." It was Everild, bless her.

Lot took the proffered flask of water, swishing some around her mouth before spitting the rest into the basket, which would now be ruined. She had to explain, else the others become annoyed at her waste of a perfectly good basket. She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet the concerned faces of the other women. "It seemed to be the better option," she croaked, furthering their confusion. "If it spilled on the floor, it would have to be cleaned, and there is no-one with time to spare."

A single intake of breath, presumably a refrained giggle, came from her right. "We certainly aren't begrudging the basket, lady," Everild said. "But be ye ill? Ought we to call for a healer?"

"No!" Lothíriel said, and returned the flask to her. "I feel much better now, I thank you for your inquiry."

Everild was obviously unpersuaded, but did not press her queen. She shooed the rest of the ladies back to her work, and slowly the room began to fill with the familiar noises once more. Lothíriel took several steadying breaths, and set her pace of weaving much lower than it had been before. _They mustn't suspect, they mustn't suspect…_

Her own attempts to convince herself were fruitless, for she convinced no others. That night a soft knock came at her door before Everild let herself in, carrying a tray. "I have brought camomile to help ye sleep, lady," she said, setting it on the tiny desk, right on top of the reports Lothíriel had been reading. "I suspect rest does not come easily. I always found it ironic in my own child-bearing days, that I could sleep a full day when Hroder was home, and yet when he was on patrol I could not catch a wink, even with exhaustion from our other children and the nausea from the current one had me in tears most days."

 _No use pretending then_. Lothíriel took a sip of the camomile, and motioned for Everild to sit near her. "Is it very common among the women whose husbands must leave them?" she asked.

Everild gave a grim smile, the candlelight making her wrinkles deeper and menacing. "To be sure, lady. I wager ye could ask any married female within these walls, and they would tell ye the same. The burdens of a babe are harder borne alone."

Lothíriel set the tea down and nibbled a biscuit. It was made from fine white flour, and she considered for a moment insisting that she was not worth the luxury, but she knew she would be overruled before the words were out of her mouth. Affection for Everild rocked through her, and she smiled widely, perhaps the most genuine that an adult had earned from her since they had left Edoras. "I thank you," she said. "For both the sustenance and your kind thoughts."

"Ye do not need to be thanking me, lady. I only do as any decent woman would."

Lothíriel hesitated for only a slight moment. "May I ask you for your confidence? I do not wish for word of my...condition to be known."

A guffaw escaped the other woman, her usual composure disappearing. "Ye needn't ask me that," she said when her mirth had faded. "I would never spread tales of my queen, and I am sure most have already guessed about the babe ye carry."

"Would it be worth asking all to refrain from asking or wondering?" Lothíriel asked.

"Ha! That would only increase the speculations, lady."

 _Bother._ She downed the tea in one fell swoop, her stomach churning as it filled with liquid, and she winced. "I shan't dally any longer while there is work to be done. I will return to weaving -"

"Ye certainly will not!" Everild cut across her. "We aren't so desperate that we would force the sick into labor. Lie in, and spend time with the prince. I will wait on ye when needed. We care for ye, Lothíriel Queen, and so we will take care of ye."


	3. Respite

"Mama! Mother!" Ebba's excitement usually disregarded the formal language Lothíriel required of her, and today was no different. But it was the sound of her shrill shrieking that set Lot's head pounding as she ran through the door, slamming it shut behind her. Elfwine, who had been snoozing in the next room, began to wail.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to remain calm as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She had just barely closed her eyes, too!

"A letter from Da!" Ebba shook the parchment in her mother's direction. "Please, please open it and read it aloud!"

"Calm down," Lot said, taking the envelope and tearing the seal. "And go back to your lessons! I will read it to both you and Aoife together."

"But it is the afternoon," she said, looking confused. "We had lessons this morning, I was helping Everild in the hall when the letters came."

"There is more than one?"

"Well, yes, a courier came from Edoras."

Lothíriel's brain was slow to process, and she hated it. "I seemed to be quite mixed up today, darling, I am sorry. Please return to Everild, and I do promise to tell you all about your father this evening."

Ebba bounced forward to kiss her mother on her cheek, and walked from the room more demurely than she entered. Lothíriel sighed, and shook out the letter to read it.

 _Lot-_

 _I wrote in haste; the messenger is already saddling his horse to leave. I apologize for not writing sooner - I have been on three separate patrols to hunt down those blasted wildmen. Only skirmishes so far, as their main force continues to escape us. Do not worry for me, I beg of you - we have plenty of men in Edoras to defend it, and when we ride we do not skimp on Riders._

 _A confession: I have grown soft in the last years, as have my marshals and our contingents. We have decided that our next patrol, which is to leave four days from now, will take us near Aldburg around Yule. I am sure that we will need to rest for a few days, restock our supplies, council with locals, etc. But the true reason, in my heart, is to see you and our family. I have missed you terribly - and Meduseld is not the same without Aoife and Ebba knocking down heirloom tapestries and setting cats ablaze._

 _I shall see you soon._

 _All my love,_

 _Éomer_

A visit! Well-timed indeed. And Lothíriel could certainly agree with Éomer's notion that the men of the Mark had become very attached to their hearths and wives; even during this recent threat she had seen more remorse of riding away than ever before. The girls would be pleased to see their father again, and if Lot were being honest with herself she would admit that she positively hated being away from her husband. He had become very necessary for her happiness, and she could not even comprehend what would happen to her if he were to perish in this conflict.

Yule was only twelve days' away. Would there be celebrations in Aldburg even with the wildmen still unaccounted for? She thought about it for a moment, and then decided it did not matter. She would provide a holiday for her family by her own hands, and she needed Éomer's help.

She rose from the bed, retrieving a dressing gown and pulling on stockings and slippers before quickly scrawling a note on a scrap of paper to Éomer. If a messenger were to depart today, he would arrive in Edoras in plenty of time before Éomer was due to depart. Checking on Elfwine and deciding he was likely to continue sleeping peacefully for quite some time, Lot made a brief errand to Steward Caldwin, who assured her that her note would be in Edoras in less than a day. He did not comment on her choice of apparel, despite the unlikelihood to see anyone in the nightclothes in the middle of the day, and for that, she was grateful.

Lot sat on the bed when she returned, not quite feeling tired enough to rest longer, but not energized enough to do anything of use. The excitement of seeing Éomer again had sent her heart beating into a slight frenzy, and the conflicting misery of being pregnant and giddiness were difficult for her to cope with. She felt restless, but what could she possibly accomplish when she slept for most the day?

A Yule gift for Éomer, of course! She had scraps enough in her mending basket, and if she remembered correctly, there was quite a lot of an amber-colored cotton blend. She leapt to her find to rummage through the fabrics, and was soon sitting on her bed underneath the cracked window with her feet tucked under her bottom, regretting her sudden movements but too excited about her project to care.

.

.

It was in that exact position, with Elfwine sleeping in the next room once again, ten days later, that she heard cries through the window just as Aoife and Ebba burst through the door, nearly jumping from their skins in glee.

"Father's come! Father's come!"

Containing herself only slightly better than the child, Lot quickly put away the newly completed gift and hurried to put on outerwear and boots. Elfwine was woken so that she could bind him to her back with a long shawl, and together the family rushed down the corridors to the courtyard.

Lothíriel drank in the sight of her husband, as tired and filthy as he looked, dismounting Sunfire and willingly passing the reins to a groom. The clamor of loved ones reuniting with a few hundred Riders buzzed in her ears, but it was easily ignored, for she had another concern, who happened to be opening his arms to her as she and the girls hurried to him.

She completely enveloped herself in his scent, closing her eyes to breathe in deeply. He was here, comforting and solid, already speaking words to her that swam through her mind without understanding. _He was here_ , and little else mattered.

"Da! Da! I have been grooming Firefoot near every day, Mama said I must otherwise I might be naughty. You must come and see him - how his coat shines!" Ebba's partiality for her father was made more obvious by her enthusiastic jumping and tugging on his arm. Aoife was much more subtle in her affection, squeezing his other hand tightly and hugging his arm to her chest.

Lothíriel did not want to release her own hold around Éomer's neck, but seeing the look on his face, knew that having three females cling to him was not the most favorable to him in his current bedraggled state. He seemed to plead to her with his eyes: _Help me!_ A small grin tugged at her lips, and she saw his gaze linger there. "I missed you, wife," he said softly.

Missed her! How inadequate those words proved as she tried to vocalize her own feelings to him. Missing could hardly be counted as a viable emotion compared to the yearning and agony that had followed her every step and ingrained itself in her every thought while they had been apart. She could not say what she felt, and Éomer's brows furrowed as her face pinched with distress. He bent his head to address their daughters.

"I apologize, Ebba, but I cannot see Firefoot until I am fed and rested, but I will anticipate it every moment until then. Aoife, I also wish to know what you have been doing, but you girls must let your mother have me first. I am filthy and she is exceptional at giving baths, as you well know!"

Groans were the only complaints that left their lips, and at their father's urging, they left to return to their chores in quick forgetting of the pain of separation. How Lothíriel envied them! She felt weight lift from her back as Elfwine was pulled from the wrapping that held his body to hers, and Éomer tossed the boy in the air before showering him with kisses. Elfwine giggled uncontrollably, a sound that Lothíriel loved, but more so the large, warm hand of her husband guiding her back into Elfhelm's house. Everild met them along the way, and Éomer successfully convinced his friend's sister, with the charming nature that Lothíriel had fallen in love with, to agree to watch their son for the afternoon so that the king could recuperate.

It was almost awkward, in the suffocating silence of Lothíriel's bedchamber, as neither of them spoke. She helped to remove his armor and mail, as she always did, but her lips were compressed else she divulged her secret. Her brothers had discovered long ago the strange habit of hers, when she was unwilling to share truths she closed herself as tightly as a clam. They would have seen straight through her, but she could not recall ever having lied, either by commission or omission, to Éomer before. Apart from when she had tried to convince both of them that she did not love him. So long ago, and what a mistake that had been!

The poor little chair by the fire was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of armor Éomer had been wearing, and most of it had to rest on the floor. By that time a tub and several buckets of hot water had been brought, and her husband eased himself rather gingerly into the tub before Lothíriel began to pour the water over him. He hissed when the steaming water hit his skin, but made no other comment, and she began to rub soap on his back.

"You are not injured, then?" she asked. An excellent comment, she thought without conviction, very distracting from her other worries.

"No," he said. "I am exhausted is all. I have spent much more time looking at maps and reading reports than in combat. I have been on the road for three sennights with a few men, trying to track a group of thirty, but it was rather boring."

Boring! Only a man would think a lack of fighting as _boring_.

"And how Elfwine has grown! You must of tell me of his accomplishments, and those of the girls. I am sure that my desire to hear of them is greater than your desire to know how many nights I have slept in the wild."

Lothíriel laughed, and obliged him, her narrations amusing both of them as she continued to bathe him. She did love to wash her husband, it made it easy to admire his form, and she received grunts of pleasure from his lips as she massaged his sore muscles. He dried himself as she sought out clean clothes, Everild having several sets in Elfhelm's size available. But Éomer refused the shirt, and asked, "Would you be willing to rub marjoram oil into my shoulders? They still ache something awful."

She left the room once more, and when she returned the with the oil Éomer was sitting backwards on the chair, head on his crossed arms that rested on the back. She lubed her hands with the oil, and began to rub it into his shoulders. Goosepimples broke out across his skin, making the normally smooth surface rough. "Are you cold?" she asked in concern.

"A bit," he said, voice muffled. "But my reaction is from being touched by you. The weeks have been lonely."

"Ah." She continued massaging, kneading his stiff muscles as she would a loaf of bread. She had to push with all her strength to illicit some sort of reaction from him. He groaned when she rubbed the sore spots, and she tried to put more weight into it. This one was of those special times that she felt weak, against such a broad wall of muscle. It was a miracle he felt any gentle caresses at all!

Footsteps clamored down the hall, and Ebba pushed through the door, babbling excitedly about a new calf that had been born that afternoon even before the door had shut with a resonant bang. "Ebba! Open the door, Everild said!" Aoife's own petulant voice joined the fray, and Ebba turned around and pulled open the door again. Aoife stepped into the room serenely, balancing a tray carefully.

"Put it on the table, Aoife," Lothíriel said. "It appears that Cookie has sent enough for all us." She washed her hands while Éomer pulled his shirt on.

"We drew lots to see who would be allowed to name it," Ebba was saying, her attention not diverted from her story. "The children, I mean. And I won! The calf was a pretty red color, even under the goop, and so I named her Rose."

"That is a lovely name," her father told her. "You are very lucky to have been given the chance."

"Luck," Aoife scoffed. "Cookie said my pie crust today was the flakiest she had tasted in years. That is not luck - only talent and skill."

"Do not be rude!" Lothíriel said. The agitation of keeping a secret from her husband was more worrisome than she would have thought, and Aoife's face fell at the reprimand. But Lothíriel did not back down.

The table from the children's room was pulled in by the girls, and everyone sat on their own pillow to eat. The children were happy, Lothíriel was on edge, but Éomer was exhausted. He had been rejuvenated by the bath and rest, but weeks of patrol were not so easily forgotten. As the light dimmed in the room, the dark circles around his eyes look as if a pair of purple bruises from a fistfight.

The cook had sent up a bowl of clotted cream with pears in a syrup to accompany it, no doubt a luxury that few others would be enjoying, but the sight of pears turned her stomach. And they had been her favorite winter treat!

"You look pale," Éomer said in a low voice, unnoticed by the children who were intent on devouring the sweet treat. At her poorly-disguised grimace, he tipped his own pears onto her plate. "Please, eat my serving. I know they are a special favorite of yours." His twinkling, tired eyes were guileless. She could not blame him for his insensitivity, for he was ignorant of her condition.

"I am already satisfied, but I thank you for the thought," she said, steadying her voice as she stood abruptly, trying to clear her nose of the cloying scent of the fruit. "Elfwine is rubbing his eyes, I will nurse him and put him in bed presently."

Éomer did not press her, and helped the girls to clear the table and return the dishes to the kitchen, and when they returned Elfwine was already sleeping soundly in his crib. Lot allowed the girls to prepare themselves for bed in her own room, and after they were bundled up in their thick stockings, woollen nightgowns and shawls, Éomer read to them from Galmir's _Tales of the North_ while they all sat near the fire. Lothíriel had beseeched Everild to borrow her copy weeks ago, for this winter tradition was one Aoife and Ebba had sorely missed, and Lothíriel as well. She was lulled into a peaceful stupor listening to her husband's resonant voice as she pieced together a pair of rabbit-fur slippers, a Yule present for Elfwine. Finally the girls began to yawn, and Éomer carried them to bed after stoking up the fire in their room.

When he returned, he dropped a kiss on Lothíriel's forehead. "I will retire now, unless you need me for anything else. I am quite weary."

"Go," she said, smiling. "I will finish this before I join you."

Working fast as the room chilled, she was able to stitch together both slippers and add ties to each, finishing them soon after Éomer's deep breathing told her he was fast asleep. Satisfied with her work, she put away her sewing supplies and hid the present underneath the pile of extra fabric. She put more wood in the fire, teeth chattering, and changed quickly. After brushing her hair she nearly ran to join Éomer under the covers. Even with the extra furs and the warm body heating the sheets, she was still cold. She wiggled up close to him, tucking her cold toes between his legs. Once she finally began to warm, she fell asleep quickly in the comfort of her husband's presence.

.

.

A tickling on her ear woke her at dawn. Better than the urge to use the chamber pot - again. She had been up nearly every hour that night to relieve herself. At least she had been able to keep the fire alive all night that way! The tickling was persistent, and she swatted at it blindly, annoyed.

"Ow," it spoke.

Lothíriel's eyes flew open. "Oh!" Éomer was evidently awake. He pulled her to him, and she flipped sides so that they faced each other. "Good morning," she said, smiling as best she could despite her exhaustion at this early hour. Was it even dawn yet? "I am sorry I hit you."

"I have had worse awakenings," he said. "And worse bedmates."

"Is Sunfire still so jumpy?" she asked, removing her hand from the warm covers to stroke his beard. "Your beard needs trimming."

A broad smile illuminated his features. "I've missed you, Lot."

She snuggled into his embrace before he began to kiss her, tenderly at first but quickly turning fierce. His tiredness from touring had obviously been sated enough by a full night's sleep for him to pursue her, and despite her unsettled stomach she responded enthusiastically.

After a few moments he threw back the covers and began to lift her nightgown, and panic filled her breast. She pushed back his roving hands, and when he looked at her, eyes filled with confusion, she found herself lost for words. "I -" she thought quickly. "There is no time. We must go quickly to finish before Elfwine wishes for his breakfast."

He laughed then, and only her wool leggings were stripped before he joined with her, and she sighed with the pleasure of such complete physical contact. His hands slipped up her skirt, but he did not lift it further, resting his hold palm on her hip as they moved together, becoming lost in their long-withheld lovemaking.

The sun finally rose, and Lot hustled the girls down the corridors to the kitchen, where Éomer was waiting with Elfwine, the baby having nursed while his sisters dressed for the day. The porridge was hot but lacking, with the honey stores all but gone. They ate quickly, and Aude and Ebba were sent running to do their morning chores. The chaos departed, Lothíriel took her time to clean Elfwine's face and hands while Éomer devoured a second helping.

"This beats cram by leagues upon leagues," he said, leaning back and stretching.

"What is your schedule for the day?" Lothíriel asked, standing to clear the table of dishes. There were servants enough in the kitchens, but they were busy enough with the pies for Yule. The holiday would be celebrated early - the next day, in fact, before the men had to ride out again. She ignored the thought of Éomer leaving again so soon, mentally cursing the mead stewing with spices on the stove. It had done nothing, to be sure - but once it was drank, he would be gone. How did it come to this, her measuring their time together in food?

"I should probably counsel with Elfhelm, see that our horses are stabled and groomed, sharpen my sword and knives…" He picked Elfwine up and threw him in the air, the boy squealing with happiness. "But I might help you with whatever pursuits _you_ have found to fill your time."

Lot smiled back, a little wobbily, as they left the kitchen. "I generally stay in our rooms with Elfwine for most of the day. I sneak away while he naps, there is always a servant with mending to do to watch him so I can weave or help out with the cooking. Or if he is content, I bring him along to weaving, there are plenty happy enough to keep watch on him. It is the girls that are busy - you might accompany them."

"Perhaps I will."

But he did not. They played with Elfwine together for a while, just the two of them, and though Lothíriel had never seen magic before, from what she had heard of it, this was magical. Elfwine showed off how he could pull himself to his feet, holding onto his mother's skirts, and concentrated on pulling the ties on his father's tunic in his chubby little hands. Once he began to fuss, Lothíriel undid her own laces to nurse him, and after several minutes he went to sleep with a bit of milk dribbling down his cheek.

"I will take him," Éomer whispered, and he gently lifted the baby from her lap and carried him next door to lay him in the crib. He shut the door behind him upon returning.

"Do you have any mending for me to do?" she asked, tidying the room from Elfwine's curious fingers.

"If you are willing to; if not I shall send it to be done by a laundress."

"I would be happy to."

She settled in the hard-backed chair after Éomer gave her his winter socks, which were badly in need of darning, and when she pressed him, he also gave her his undershirt, which had been cleaned and returned just that morning. He left then, but returned soon with a stack of papers to read. He spread them across the bed, and set to studying them. Lunch was brought to them, Éomer apparently having requested it while he was away. Lothíriel skipped the cheese, but nibbled the bread to settle her stomach, which was beginning to turn since she had not moved for her seat for the past hour.

Éomer took the tray back to the kitchen, and when he returned he was carrying his saddlebags. "I forgot to tell you," he said, rummaging through once they were plopped on the bed. "I brought what you requested from Edoras."

"Oh! Wonderful!" Lothíriel stood to pick out the pieces that she wanted; two silk skirts from Harad that she had bought soon after her first marriage. They were to be Yule presents for the girls, an apron with matching handkerchiefs for each. "I must get started right away." Éomer laughed at her enthusiasm and left her to her activities, her newfound purpose filling her with excitement and hurrying her hands.

How quickly they all settled into a familiar routine, supping together in the evening, and filling time with games and laughter. It quite boggled Lot's mind that Éomer's presence could have such an uplifting influence on both her and the children, and she loved him more for it. Sleeping alongside him, with her cold toes tucked between his legs and his arm wrapped around her shoulders and holding her close - was an added gift. Perhaps the heartache that came at the division of their family was more sooner forgotten than expected, she thought to herself drowsily before falling asleep; for indeed everything settled in just as it had been before.


	4. Yule

A giggle from the next room woke Lothíriel at dawn. Too early, in her opinion, but when she peeked open her eyes Éomer was already building the fire and pulling gifts from their hiding places to set on the chair to await their recipients. He looked over, and smiled when he saw that she was awake. "Good, good!" he boomed. Too early, and too excited, Lothíriel decided, but she smiled back anyway. He continued, "I warmed your underthings on this neat little rack - I think we should keep one in our room in Meduseld. I have found I do fancy heated underpants, myself." He brought over a pile of clothing, which was indeed, hot to the touch, and Lothíriel began laughing as she pulled herself up.

"My dear, we _do_ have these in Meduseld! They are in the laundry, where our clothes are dried for us! Pray do not tell me you are ungrateful for the privilege of having our clothing returned to us clean and dry."

"Ungrateful? Me? Never!" He bent over and snatched a kiss, and her balance teetered in the unexpected attack. "I have the loveliest wife this age has known, two charming daughters, and a son handsome enough to rival his own father. I would not presume to be ungrateful."

Lothíriel laughed, and dressed quickly while Éomer left in search of food. She fetched the girls from their chamber, having them dress by the fire while she nursed Elfwine. The girls had been patient for what must have been ages to them already, but Lothíriel told them in her sternest voice that they mustn't touch the gifts until after the morning meal.

"Mother, please, can't we at least hold ours?" Ebba begged.

"Certainly not. Such a ridiculous notion, you'll know what is in them soon enough."

"I miss home," Aoife's brows were pinched with unhappiness. "I wish we could have pine wreaths and candles to make this feel more like Yule."

"That is not the tone or words of a lady," Lothíriel reprimanded, rather hurt that even with her's and Éomer's best efforts Aoife was still unsatisfied. "We must always be thankful for what we have, whether it is a feast or a crust of bread."

"Yes, Mother." Sullen, Aoife climbed onto the bed to stick her nose out of the shutters.

"Is there any snow?" Ebba asked, her face lighting up for a moment.

"None."

Ebba sighed.

"I have an idea," Lothíriel said in a chirpy voice. "There are some ribbons in the scrap basket, why don't you decorate the chair? It would be make the room much more festive, and lift all of our spirits." It worked, and the girls scrambled to finish before their father arrived. Éomer acted appropriately surprised and impressed when they showed off their handiwork, placing the tray he had brought on the table before ruffling Ebba's hair.

"My girls are so handy with the decorations," he declared. "Shall we eat and then open presents?"

"Indeed," Lothíriel said, and she placed Elfwine on the floor to crawl around before standing. Blood rushed to her head, but she steadied herself quickly. The scent of apples was rising from the dishes Éomer had brought, and she swallowed quickly to disguise a grimace. _Mustn't show, mustn't show_ …

"My lady," Éomer had approached her, oblivious to her distress, and handing her a plate that he had filled with the victuals. Even the sight increased her discomfort.

"I...I find myself not hungry today," she forced herself not to squeak. "I must have eaten too much last night."

Éomer's brows furrowed slightly, and she gave him the best smile she could to reassure him. He did not press her, and he and the girls sat near the fire to eat. Elfwine pulled himself to his knees while holding onto his father's breeches, and his sisters were feeding him bits of morning buns while he crinkled his nose and smiled at them. It was a beautiful scene, and Lothíriel found herself wanting to cry nearly as much as she wanted to vomit. _Pregnancy_ , she thought. _I hate it._ She curled up in bed, trying to clear her nose by breathing in the fresh air that entered through the window.

"Presents!" Ebba exclaimed when they finished.

"Not until you are clean!" Lothíriel said, turning away from the window. "Take the tray down the kitchens, both of you, and wash up before you come back. Then we may celebrate." Too excited to complain, the girls lept up and were out of the room with the dishes quick as an arrow from a bowstring. Éomer was watching her from where he stayed on the ground with Elfwine, but she determined not to meet his gaze, for the suspicions lingering there and for her own moroseness. Of all days for the sadness to strike, it had to be a holiday, and one where she had not seen her husband for six weeks and was likely not to see him again for the same.

Presently their daughters returned, and gifts were passed around and opened. Aoife and Ebba both exclaimed over the aprons, and immediately began licking horehound candy that Lothíriel had bought from Aldburg's market. Éomer had produced his own gifts for them, which were revealed to be drawings - a patch of wildflowers for Aoife, and Sunfire rearing for Ebba. Elfwine was too young to care about presents, but the rabbit-fur slippers fit him perfectly, and he seemed to enjoy for the wooden horse Éomer had carved for him, in the baby sort of way of chewing and gnawing. The tunic Éomer received gratefully, saying, "I have needed a new shirt of late, Lot. Thank you."

"You are certainly welcome," she said, smiling. "I shall make another when we return home."

His face darkened slightly, but he quickly disguised it and pulled from his pocket a small wrapped package, leaning close to her. "For you," he said softly, his voice audible despite the chaos that was their children.

"Oh, Éomer," she sighed. "I need no gifts."

"Nonsense. You are my wife, and I am entitled to give you anything I see fit." Quickly, he barked at the girls to retreat to their own room, and with a slam of the door they were gone. Elfwine watched the door curiously for a moment before returning to his toy-chewing.

Lothíriel unwrapped the package, in which lay a silver chain. Lifted from the bundle, it revealed five finely cut opals that hung from the chain. "It's beautiful," she said, smiling at her husband before kissing him quickly. "I shall treasure it always."

"Allow me," he said, and he took it from her to clasp around her neck.

"This is much too fine for this dress," she murmured, running her fingers over the cool stones. The wool underneath it really did not seem right.

"You make it beautiful." Éomer was pleased at her happiness, and continued. "There are five stones, to represent our family." Her smile froze on her face. His lips twitched, as if he was going to smile, but after a moment a frown appeared instead. "Lothíriel," he asked softly. "Why did you not tell me?"

Her gaze dropped, reddening under his scrutiny. A warm hand lifted her chin, and she was drawn into the depths of her husband's eyes. No, there was no scrutiny, only concern. She swallowed. "I was ashamed," she whispered. "And I am frightened. I know we did not intend to have another child so soon, and I did not bother to take any precautions because it took so long to conceive the other children. And I am frightened because we are apart, and without your support I feel as if I am drowning."

"If you had told me, I could have done more."

"I should know that," Her nose was beginning to run, and she sniffed. "But my judgment is clouded. I have been so very sick, my milk nearly disappeared at the start of it." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug that was awkward as they both still sat on the floor. "How did you know, anyhow?" she asked, seeking to push talk of her emotion into the past.

At this he laughed. "I have known you through three entire pregnancies, my sweet, do you think I would not notice the symptoms by now? Your appetite is all but gone, and you look positively sickened when food is before you. For the first time in our marriage you refused to allow me to undress you while we made love, and you looked startled out of your wits when I tried." He was speaking frankly with the girls out of earshot. "You hardly speak to anyone, as if withdrawn in your wretchedness. Now, pray don't look at me like that, I only speak what I see. Everything appears to be similar."

"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "I am awful at keeping secrets. Everild knew weeks ago, and she hinted that she was not the only one."

"Everild is a wise woman."

"Too wise, in my opinion."

Éomer gave a wry smile. "I recall her late husband saying something very similar many years ago."

"Did he pass?" Lot asked. "She has mentioned him but I did not want to pry."

"Indeed. He was one of the king's guard, and died defending my uncle on the Pelennor."

Melancholy was setting in, and she clicked her fingers to get Elfwine's attention, and seeing her wide grin, he let out a huge giggle and threw the toy to the side, rolling over to start crawling towards his mother. Lot pulled him into her lap and snuggled him, breathing in his beautiful baby smell and placing a tender kiss on one of his plump cheeks. "I am very thankful for our children, Éomer," she told him as he began tickling Elfwine's toes. "As difficult as it is, my heart is quite full of gratitude towards you."

"For impregnating you, or…?"

"Oh, cease your teasing!" she said. "You know what I meant."

Elfwine giggled and squirmed from his parents, and with fondness Lot let him go, setting him on all fours so that he could explore the room. "He has become fast," Éomer said. "We will be chasing after him in Meduseld, when it is out of danger."

"Will it be very soon?" A silence hung in the air, and Éomer would not meet her eyes. Lothíriel clasped his hand. "I understand if it is not, I would only appreciate a sense of when we might return."

"I wish I could give you comfort," Éomer sighed and reached out his arm to hold her close. She buried her face into his shoulder, inhaling deeply to imprint the moment in her memory, to return to in the dark days soon to come. "We still do not know where the wildmen are, nor of their true intent. Once we find them we will have to mount a strategic attack; that will take days, and with the coming fight and recovery...I estimate a month at the earliest. More likely to be two, but it is probable to be three or more."

She took a breath. "In that case, I refuse to allow this to darken the remainder of our time together. Call the girls back in; we will have a game of barley break."

.

.

Éomer left them only a day later, effectively dispersing any leftover Yule excitement. It was a rare occasion for Aoife and Ebba to be quiet as well, and even Elfwine was sitting still, watching with wide eyes from the floor as Éomer in turn embraced his wife and daughters. It was early morning; the fire had only just been stoked and the heat from it was negligent, and Lot shivered in her shawl while the girls hugged their father.

"Do not despair," he whispered to her when it was her turn to say goodbye. The girls were sniffling on the bed, holding Elfwine between them.

"Then return to us in haste."

Éomer pulled away from her and smiled, holding her arms gently as she crossed them in front of her chest to ward off the chill. How did he look so rested and rosy-cheeked! He had been awake for an hour already, and was wearing a layer of cold mail and cheerless armor. If Lot had been in his place, she would have struggled to retain any good cheer. But her duty was not the battle; rather, to the soldier she loved. She took a deep breath, and relaxed her features, smiling broadly into his eyes.

"Farewell, Éomer. Be safe."

"I will. I wish you were presenting the parting-cup, then I might see you longer."

"I am relieved that I am not!" Lot laughed. "I cannot admit to loving that duty in the winter."

He kissed her cheek, and then he was gone; disappeared through the door to the dark corridor, and sense of loneliness and sadness descended on the quiet family. She stared at the door a moment longer, and then whirled around with a forced smile. "Back to bed, girls! There are still hours left until the day begins."

That morning, she wept in solitude.

.

.

 _Idle fingers bring despair._

Lot had only a small reserve of memories of her mother, and the recollection of the princess's hard-working and generous efforts awakes left her in awe. Imrahil's wife had spent hours upon hours with the healers, preparing bandages and linens and medicines to send to coastal cities, which had been plagued by pirates since before Lothíriel was born.

 _Idle minds breed fear._

It was a philosophy she had always clung to, as if living her mother's mantra would keep her alive somehow. But now she needed it more than ever. With Yule past and Aoife and Ebba keeping busy, as well as Elfwine having a very easy temperament, Lothíriel's confinement wore on her self esteem.

What else did her mother do, as princess of Dol Amroth? Attending the sick was not an option for Lot; she could not in good conscience make herself more ill. Assisting the kitchen was also a rather poor idea, for the sight of food was also detrimental. There had to be something else…

.

.

"A ladies' evening of poetry and song?" Disbelief, and an unconcealed amount of aversion was written on Everild's face. Lothíriel did not allow that to circumvent her idea, and adjusting Elfwine on her hip as she continued to explain.

"Indeed, it was something that my mother arranged with the highborn ladies when I was a girl. It distracted them while their husbands were away, and as the times grew darker in the shadow of Mordor. It never failed to raise spirits."

"Aye, I cannot fault your intent, though the technicalities of the event would be a wee bit harder to guarantee."

"I shall do the organizing, if you grant permission for the hall to be used."

"If it is what ye want, then ye should certainly do it. I will even attend, though I've never had much ear for poetry."

"But you have a beautiful singing voice!" Lot said. "There will be much song, as well."

"Oh, very well, I am convinced," Everild grumbled. "I will speak to Cookie about refreshments."

Gratified, Lothíriel carried Elfwine back to their rooms, where she fetched a cloak for her and a thick blanket for her little boy. Once bundled properly, she hurried from the hall, and for the first time in weeks, stepped into the fresh, wintry air. She breathed deeply, blinking in the unforgiving sun. The wind chilled her to the bone. Éomer always said that it was colder when there was no snow, which acted as a blanket upon the earth. But there was no use in wishing for a change in weather - her wanting certainly could not change that. She began to walk briskly down the worn path, remembering the instructions she had begged a guard for at the hall.

The town crier was first on her errand list, and for a few silver pennies was only too happy to agree to spread the word of the impending event.

"Poetry _and_ song," Lot emphasized to him. "And ladies only!"

"Yes, my lady," he said, bowing low.

Only a few market stalls were open, and she was lucky enough to find that one of them sold wreaths of dried flowers and vines from the summer. She bought enough to decorate the hall rather lavishly, and then returned to the hall with a new spring in her step, though her back was aching from carrying Elfwine. But her enthusiasm was not diminished, and she went through her days cheerily until the night of the poetry event approached.

Lothíriel saw that the men were sent away, and the women in Everild's household were relieved of duties so that all could partake - both noblewomen and servants. It had been a controversial decision, but Lot knew that having a diversity of women would bring new flavors to the night, and there would be songs with which many were not familiar. Tarts were brought in from the kitchens, and enough candles lit to give the entire hall a bright, warm glow. Everyone was in high spirits, and Lot beseeched Everild to begin the music as the lady of the hall, and she obliged with a beautiful aria.

 _I pass all my hours in a shady old grove,_

 _But I love not the day when I see not my love:_

 _I survey every walk now my lover is gone,_

 _And sigh when I think we were there all alone;_

 _O then 'tis, O then that I think there's no Hell_

 _Like loving too well._

 _But each shade and each conscious bower when I find,_

 _Where I once had been happy and he had been kind,_

 _When I see the print left of his foot in the green,_

 _And imagine the pleasures may yet come again;_

 _O then 'tis, O then that no joy's above_

 _The pleasures of love._

Unsurprisingly, the excitement that had been trickling through the crowd was now utterly diminished; handkerchiefs had been sought and tears dried. It took all of Lothíriel's strength of will to keep herself from weeping. Everild's song struck too close to the heart. Everild curtsied once, smiling benignly at the crying women, and sat herself down with the motions of one who had triumphed. Lot nearly laughed - Everild could have an odd sense of humor at times.

Presently two large women from the town got up, and one danced a lively jig while the other sang and clapped along. The sadness of the first piece was soon forgotten, and soon there was a great variety of comedy pieces, dancing, love songs, and declamations. The night wore on too quickly for Lot's taste, but she laughed along with the others, cares forgotten. And it seemed that all others had forgotten their cares as well. She did not think that she had seen such lightheartedness for months, at least since the harvest festival at the autumnal equinox.

"The queen! The queen should sing!"

Lothíriel blushed as the cry went up, and she searched for who would put her in such a position, but the perpetrator was unclear. "Let it not be said that I have ever shied away from my duty!" she announced as she stood. The crowd quieted, and she took a deep breath, recalling a song that her mother had sung long ago.

 _Oh, that I had a small cabin  
Here beside the strand,  
At the foot of the mountains, in the shade of the crags  
I would find peace and calm;  
I'd need no music but the birds of the bush  
Frolicking in flight with their young;  
The voice of the waves and the water cascading  
Responding to them with their glee._

 _There I'd lie down, and rise at will  
In luxurious tranquil leisure,  
Revived by the sound of the rippling stream  
From the pure and brimming well;  
I would not see the depredations of the rabble  
Their uprisings and their plagues,  
And the thousands of tearful sickly poor  
Under tyrannical hardship burdened._

 _The laughter of the sea and the wind of the mountains  
With their melancholy ponderous sounds,  
So appropriate for me at this time  
When I miss them in my soul;  
I would not wish for a palace around me  
I would not wish for gold or land,  
If I could stay down in the glen  
Listening to the voice of the waves._

Give to me peace and devotion and love,  
Beside the tranquil brook,  
My small cabin in the shade of the trees,  
And my court beside the sea.

The rows of silent women were smiling at her as she finished. Lot opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, loud noises began to come from the courtyard. The shouts of men and screams of horses nearly caused a panic. At once, the party was broken up, some women running to the high windows to look out into the black night, and others heading towards the main doors.

"The men have returned!"

Lothíriel contained herself, not running to the courtyard, but rather walking briskly. She could see above the head of the mass of women that was crowding around the steps, and saw that indeed - the men had returned. Torches carried by soldiers barely keeping horses in check, and candles bringing light from windows overlooking the scene enabled her to see what was happening. Carts full of limp bodies, hunched over riders, and blood spilling from several sources onto the stone ground. It was pure chaos, but the fright of it did not match the terror that entered her heart. _Where was Éomer?_

Two horses broke from the rest, cantering relatively calmly to the gates into the hall. Everild was standing closest to them, and helped her brother to dismount, even as he winced and held onto his side.

"Sorry we've come unannounced," he said, loud enough to carry despite the pain on his face. "We need healers straight away. They must see the king first."

Lothíriel's stomach dropped to her feet, and for the first time in days, felt nausea rising. The women standing in front of her parted, looking back at her with a mixture of pity and fear. The figure on the other horse groaned, tipping forward slightly. "Éomer!" she cried, and ran to him. She barely reached him in time, struggling to keep Éomer upright as he fell from the horse and into her arms.

* * *

 _One more chapter!_


	5. Return

"Lothíriel…" Éomer's voice was a rasp, and his eyes were clouded as he looked at her. "So sorry…"

"Stop talking," she commanded. "Lean on me, I will take you to the infirmary."

"There are others...hurt worse…"

"I told you to stop talking!" she snapped, her voice strangling as she tried to keep from crying. He tried to smile at her, but it was more of a grimace, and he threw his good arm over her trembling shoulders in a weak embrace.

"Can't walk," he murmured.

Lothíriel pleaded with her eyes at a rider that stood near them, and the man nodded. He lifted Éomer's arm over his shoulder, and Lot wrapped her arm around his waist to the other side, and together they somehow got him up the steps. It was incredibly difficult, as Éomer would not put any weight on his right leg.

The infirmary was on the ground floor of the hall, just beyond the entrance hall. Though it was a short distance, it seemed to Lot that the journey lasted an age. Fear was trying to take hold of her, invading her senses and overwhelming her pragmatism, and were she not pregnant she might have succeeded against it. But the added stress had her trembling and nearly crying by the time Éomer was deposited limply on a low cot in the dark room. No healers were present yet. What could possibly be taking so long that they forget their king?

A small, yet still rational part of Lot's mind answered. _There are far more wounded in the courtyard, and it cannot have been more than ten minutes since they arrived._ Watching Éomer float in and out of consciousness, with pain contorting his features, was without doubt one of the hardest things she had ever done. She felt frozen in place, even as she knelt and held his hand. There was nothing she could do - she was not trained as a healer. There was nothing.

 _Do something!_ Despite being no healer, Lot was still herself, and she could not bear to stay idle for any longer, or she would lose herself completely to terror. She stood abruptly, dropping Éomer's hand and drying the tears from her face. She located a trunk and began walking towards it - there had to be something useful inside of it - while trying to keep her steps sure despite the dizziness that threatened her with oblivion. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. Blasted darkness! Why was there not even a candle or low fire built in this room? The lid to the trunk seemed to weigh far more than it should, and with a grunt she was able to heave it open. Luck was not with her - nothing but rolled bandages and clean linens. Blast and blast again! Lot sunk to her knees. It was easier to fight the dizziness on her knees. She must think. Éomer groaned from the cot. Where had the soldier gone, any way? He could have at least lit a candle!

Her head was feeling heavy now, and she rested it on the rim of the trunk. There had to be a solution! Echoes of footsteps were pounding in her mind, and bewildered - she saw a glow of light outside the infirmary door. Perhaps the footsteps had not been in her mind after all. Everild's blurred face was getting closer. _Oh, Everild, bless you! I am so glad you are here!_ she cried, but she was not sure the words came from her mouth. Everild seemed to be saying something, but the light of the candle she held near Lot's face made her blink, and it was overwhelming her sight. She tried to push it away. She had to see Everild, there was something she needed to tell her. Oh yes! Éomer needed a healer straightaway. Why weren't the words coming out? And why, at that, was her mind feeling so fuzzy and far away? Why was the floor _moving_? Was someone trying to knock her out with a floorboard? A heavy thud penetrated the rushing sound in her ears, and her sight was gone.

.

.

Lothíriel's head felt like a brick. But at least it was lying on a soft, pillowy cloud. She mused over this for a moment. How would a brick lay on a cloud, any way? Would it not simply fall through?

A noise that sounded like a herd of horses broke her reverie, and she winced. "Get those damned horses away from me," she tried to call out, but only succeeded in a mutter. Immediately something cool was placed on her forehead.

"No horses," a deep voice said, and she wondered if it were hiding a laugh. "I was only reading a letter from Éowyn, I am sorry if I disturbed you."

"Go read somewhere else," she said. The pain in her head was making her irritable.

"If you say so, but I must warn you - if I do not watch over you, Ebba will. And she has been singing to herself quite often during the last two days. I imagine that would drive you mad."

"Then I shall rest alone."

"Healer Mauldwyn has given strict instructions that you are not to be left alone. She will have my hide if I heed your orders over her own."

Lot felt the conversation slipping away from her, as if her mind were too tired to keep up. She groaned, trying to move her legs, but they felt disconnected from her in some way.

"Easy, Lot," the voice broke in gently, and a heavy hand pressed down on her thigh. "Please do not exert yourself. Mauldwyn did say that you and the baby are not quite out of danger yet."

"Danger!" Her eyes shot open, and she immediately regretted it. A shaft of bright sunlight from a slit in the window blinded her, and she cried out. "The baby! Please, no!"

Éomer's face swam into view as he leaned over her, concern on his face. One of his arms was in a sling, but the other stroked her sweat dampened hair as he sat beside her prone form. "The baby is safe," he said. "Danger was perhaps not the right word for me to use. Neither of you should have any lasting ill effects from your episode, but it is for the best if you rest for the next several days."

"Episode? I certainly did _not_ have an episode. I would never have an _episode_."

A wry grin tugged at his features. "You certainly _did_ have an episode, dear heart. And you quite took everyone's attention away from me! I expected an amount of coddling and sympathy for my battle injuries, but whenever I woke the first night I saw your bed crowded and I was left on my own. Quite unfair, I think."

Lot tried to stick her tongue at him, but it felt rather tingly and heavy, and so she only ended up smacking her lips together.

"You must be feeling quite better, though, if you are asking for a kiss," Éomer said, raising his eyebrows.

"I was not - ! Oh bother!" It was fortunate for her that her hands were at least feeling relatively normal, and she rubbed her eyes vigorously.

Éomer was chuckling, and his weight shifted from her bed, and she heard the hard backed chair beside her creak as he sat his weight upon it. "You must drink this," he said, procuring a flask. "Mauldwyn said her main concern is that you and the baby receive the proper nutrition for growth."

"Oh, very well," she said, and with his help, was able to lift her head slightly so that she could take small sips of the herbed water. It was an exertion, and when she was sated and already feeling much better, she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"Excellent work," Éomer said. "Now, you should sleep. Would you care to hear Éowyn's letter while you close your eyes?"

"All right," she murmured, but her consciousness was already fading even before he began to read, his warm voice caressing her soul and seeming to wrap her mind in a deliciously soft blanket. She was so very comfortable - there must have been something in the water…

A soft nudging in her belly woke her, startling her into wakefulness once more. She stared at the ceiling for moment, and Éomer's voice paused in its reading. "Are you feeling well?" he asked.

Another nudge. Lot smiled; the muscles were unused but she did not let that dissuade her, and she turned to Éomer will a full grin lighting her face. She reached out to grasp his good hand, Éowyn's letter fluttering to the ground, and she placed it on her abdomen and rested her hand on top of his. She was definitely larger in that region that she realized. When had she grown so? Had it truly been so long that she had lived in Alburg and its miserable loneliness?

The babe obliged its mother's wishes, and a third nudge - this time right into Éomer's palm - had her breaking into shaky laughter. Éomer stared at her for a moment before favoring her with a beautiful smile of his own, his eyes wet. He picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, flipping it over to place a tender kiss on her pulse point.

"We are well," she said, and she stroked his whiskers with the tips of her fingers before sighing. "We are very well."

.

.

All the questions that she had meant to ask, but had no opportunity to do so during that very brief waking time, crowded into Lothíriel's mind as she again began to surface from the land of dreams. Her second waking had been in a panic as she remembered the war that threatened her beloved country. Éomer had still been by her side, and calmed her patiently as he explained what had befallen him in the last weeks.

"We searched and searched for the wildmen," he said, stroking away tousled curls from her face. "But we still could not find their main force. Erkenbrand was having fits left and right - he hates being confined, as you know."

"Mmm."

"Anyway, it was about six days ago that one of our spies returned, with the information that the wildmen had decided on a change of course. Obviously they knew of our own tactics, for they diverted towards Aldburg instead of Edoras."

"Here!"

"Hush, I am trying to tell you. I am lead to believe that they sought the prizes of women instead of gold. But that is neither here nor there. For as soon as we got the garbled account from the spy, we were off within an hour."

"I should say so!"

Éomer glared at her, though in good humor. Lot felt suitably chastised, and she nodded at him to continue. "We overtook their forces not ten miles from here. If we had been any later, their blood would have run in the streets of Aldburg." A hard glint had appeared in his eye, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. He seemed to come out of a trance, and smiled at her. "We triumphed, and it was more easily won that I would have expected for these months of trial."

"Thank you," she said softly. "I am glad I did not know of our danger. If I had, I would have become quite ill with worry, I think!" She did not even want to think what could have been a bloody and brutal ending for the evening of poetry, and shuddered.

"You became quite ill when you saw my condition," Éomer said, still smiling. "It certainly dissipated all of my doubts that your fondness for me had dimmed."

"I cannot believe that you would be so ridiculous to even consider the notion," Lot said, pursing her lips. "I am ashamed for you."

"Oh, Lot, I was only teasing," he laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Back to sleep, now."

"But what of your injuries?" she objected. "You have not told me of them."

Éomer rolled his eyes slightly. "My sincerest apologies, wife. I am perfectly well on the path to recovery. A broken wrist, and I had to have stitches on my foot, and that is all. _You_ caused more worry among the healers than I did."

"Pshaw," Lot said. "When can we return to Edoras?"

At this he grinned widely. "As soon as we are healed enough to travel, you and I. Everild has returned in your place to bear the brunt of the cleaning up herself. It was her idea - I gave my permission, thinking that you would appreciate the help."

"Oh, she is such a dear," she sighed. "I wish she would stay at Meduseld."

"If you ask, she might agree. Everild is a woman of many surprises."

"But what of Elfhelm's hall! She could not shirk her duty here."

A conspiratory look in Éomer's eyes gave her pause. "Between you and I," he said quietly, leaning in close. "There is a middle-aged widow in from a village three miles away that has quite caught his fancy. He is - as yet - unaware, but I believe that this hall might be seeing a new mistress soon enough."

Lothíriel laughed. "You are atrocious, Éomer! I shall warn Elfhelm of your intentions. Though why you have turned into a meddlesome matchmaker, I do not quite understand."

"I only want my dearest friends to have the same happiness I do," he said, and he patted her hand. "Do not cause me to order you to sleep once more. I am running low on will. I wish we could talk longer."

"Well, I am tired, anyway," she said, smothering a yawn. "Send for some supper sometime, will you? Absolutely _no_ fruit."

"Certainly."

She turned to her side, sighing in pleasure. Having Éomer near had brought already a wonderful peace, and knowing he was also hale made her smile, even as she slipped into sleep.

.

.

The warming spring breeze that blew into the room through the open window was especially refreshing, and within a day or so of sleep and medicine, she felt well enough to sit by the fire and darn Éomer's socks (Béma, that man was hard on socks!), while he and Elfwine practiced walking together. The girls were bent over a book and slate, practicing their spelling. It seemed odd to Lothíriel, that after so many weeks of misery and coldness in this very room, that it could be filled with such hope and happiness. She felt the babe within her often now, and was not so calloused towards childbearing that she did not put her hand on her belly every time the babe moved. Éomer caught her eye as she did not, and she was hard pressed not to break into giggles.

"Mother, what is the date?" Aoife asked.

"It is March, the third."

"Third of March," Aoife in turn hissed to Ebba, who immediately started scrawling.

"Is it really?" Éomer asked, looking over at her.

"Why, yes, I asked the serving maid when she brought luncheon," she squinted at the row she was darning. Miscounted again!

"Elfwine's birthday is in a week."

"Is it truly!" Ebba gasped, disregarding her studies. "Oh, how exciting. You are going to be one year old, Elfie!"

"Ba-ba-ba-ba," Elfwine responded. Lot laughed along with them, but she felt so silly inside. To have forgotten her own son's birthday approaching!

"What do you say, Lot, that we wait and celebrate when we return to Meduseld," Éomer said. "We will have a party for him and for our homecoming the same night."

"Perfect."

.

.

The sunlight glinting off of Meduseld's thatched roof was a sight more welcome than any other in Lot's life, and she could not contain the sigh of relief nor the smile that lightened her features. Soon she could bathe in her own tub, wear her own pregnancy clothes, and eat at her own table. "There is no better feeling that returning to one's home," she said, turning to Éomer who rode beside her.

"Yes, there is," he said glumly. "It is far superior to return with the full use of one's hand." Though his wrist was almost completely healed, Mauldwyn had advised that he keep it wrapped to his chest to avoid any disturbances that could damage the new skin. And he had been taking it rather hard. Lothíriel was sure that she had never seen him in such low spirits as during this plodding two-day journey, and his moodiness combined with the irascibility of their children had been difficult indeed. She had told herself, over and over again - that soon they would all be happily fixed in their home, and most of the complaints would cease.

"Chin up, my love," she told him. "I am sure our physician will be happy to take off your wrappings as soon as we arrive."

"If he refuses, I shall break his own wrist," Éomer grumbled.

"Éomer! Stop that!" She was aghast. He was never one for threats, let alone those of a violent nature.

"I am sorry, Lot. You are quite correct in your optimism. I suppose we must trade roles, for a day," he seemed more evenly tempered as he grinned at her. "Do you remember your first arrival in Edoras? I wish we could ride together through the gates again, simply for the fun of it!"

She took his change in attitude in stride. "I rather think, dearest, that between _your_ condition and _my_ condition, we would only be courting disaster."

"Too right. Care to risk a race?"

Lot said nothing, but she sent him a daring look, and spurred her horse forward, choosing the muddiest parts of the path to shower him with mud.

.

.

The remainder of the spring and the hottest days of the summer passed by their little family happily. In fact, Éomer was unsure whether they had ever been happier. It makes perfect sense, he supposed, that deprivation always leads to greater appreciation. And now, even Aoife and Ebba were better behaved, taking their places as darling princesses rather than troublemakers.

Lothíriel's labor came quickly and in the night. It had only been a few hours previous that together, they had been discussing this baby's seemingly reluctant arrival. As it would happen, it had been overhearing its mother's complaints, and Lot woke him soon after midnight, ordering him to fetch the midwife.

It was not yet dawn, and without his other children to distract, Éomer was left to pace his study in fits of nervousness and excitement. He briefly considered waking Aoife to quiz her on her mathematics, but dismissed the thought. Anything else to draw his attention from the next room, where his wife - his darling Lot - and their child were possibly in danger for their lives.

The door creaked behind him, and he whirled around to see the flushed midwife beaming at him. "You can come," she said. "Your wife knows her business well!"

"Already?" Éomer exclaimed, bounding in her direction. "I did not hear a sound!"

"The queen has an iron will, that is sure. She told me as soon as I arrived that she was determined not to make a noise."

He barely registered her words, focusing solely on the image in front of him. Lot smiled at him from the bed, looking tired but perfectly happy. "Come and hold him," she said to him. "Or fetch me some water."

"I will be getting your water, madam. Let the proud father hold his son!" Another door shut behind the midwife.

"I quite like her," Éomer mumbled, as he fussed around to hold the bundle of baby properly. It had clearly been too long, but he would adjust to having a newborn soon enough.

"Yes, she was lovely," Lot sighed. "This was the easiest birth yet. It does seem to be more natural with each one."

"Perhaps by our tenth you can simply wish it out, and the ordeal will be over," Éomer teased her. He adjusted the blanket from the baby's face. Now here was his child! Aoife, Ebba, and Elfwine all had dark hair just as their mother, but this little sir had a shockingly blond thatch of hair. "The blood of Eorl runs strongly in this one," he said, voice gruff. He felt strangely proud at this.

"I did not know you to care so much for blood," Lot said, grinning. "But I am happy that you are pleased with him, in any case."

"I am very pleased," Éomer bent over to kiss her damp forehead. "And I commend you greatly. I shall prepare a glowing report of your work for this year."

"Oh, good gracious! I am not one of your staff!"

His mother's raised voice set the babe squirming, and Éomer returned him to Lot as she pulled at the laces on her shift. He sat on the edge of the bed, perfectly content to observe the bonding.

"Oh, Éomer, what will we call him?" Lothíriel blurted after a few moments of satisfying suckles.

"Perhaps a strong Rohirric name, to match his appearance."

"I quite like Eorl, since you already mentioned it."

"What about _my_ name? It is a strong one, I think," Éomer could not help puffing out his chest a bit. Lot burst into laughter, upsetting the baby and rather offending Éomer. "It is not so unusual," he grumbled.

"No, I suppose it isn't - but if we do name him after you, we will be hard pressed to confine your swollen head within these walls!"

Éomer only wished that she were not so delicate, and that he could tackle her and properly punish her with kisses for such a statement. But he could only stare into her twinkling eyes, feeling foppish. "Eorl it is, then," he agreed.

A creak from the door that lead from Éomer's study drew their attention, and three pairs of curious brown eyes peeked through. "Come in!" he said, opening his arms to his girls, who happily ran to him, and Elfwine, who toddled behind. "Come and meet your brother."

.

.

Midwife Leofe felt like an intruder, and so she deposited the tray of food and refreshment on the table as softly as she could and quickly packed her bag, deciding that she would return at noon after a rest for both herself and the queen. She walked briskly down the deserted corridors, trying not to let the ache in her heart to overwhelm her.

Cerl was waiting in the hall, and as she approached he snuffed out his pipe and stood, tucking his pipe into his vest. "Work finished?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and she took his arm as he led her from the hall. At no further response, he continued.

"Was it too difficult?"

"Oh, no, the queen did most admirably."

"And you?"

"I did perfectly well, thank you," Leofe said stiffly. The doorwardens pulled on the great doors, and together they passed through into the grey dawn's light.

"I meant, was it too painful to be in Meduseld? I know you have feared it."

She sighed. "I did perfectly well with that, also."

But Cerl, dear Cerl was not convinced, and he drew her close to him. "Fancy a drink? I am sure the Horse's Ass is still open."

"I could do with some beer," she admitted. "But I must return to Meduseld in a few hours to ensure the mother and babe are in fine health." Cerl agreed good-naturedly, and she sighed again. He was so good to her. But she could not resist looking behind her, as the sun struck upon the rood of Meduseld like a golden beacon and pierced her heart with no small amount of sorrow. _It should have been her_.

* * *

 _Gasp! A cliffhanger which leads into my next story! Gasp again! (stay tuned)_

 _Anyway, please let me know how you liked 'Mountains to Climb'. I do hope you did. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Thank you for reading :-*_


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